


A Dove is a Type of Songbird

by PetraLynn



Series: A Dove is a Type of Songbird [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dimension hopping?, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, The author has been reading to many comics/super hero fan fic, healing happens hopefully, this is the result, universe hopping.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-06-30 11:56:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19852672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PetraLynn/pseuds/PetraLynn
Summary: Tom knows the Hermione in the library reading to him isn’t his Hermione. His Hermione is dead and buried. But what harm could come from indulging in his madness for just a little while.Updates sporadically.





	1. A Sweet Twisted Daydream

Tom was taken aback by the familiar sight of her silhouette in the library. Tom was taken aback by seeing her.

Hermione shouldn’t be here. Hermione couldn’t be here. Hermione is buried in the garden. 

Perhaps a bogart had gotten in. Tom wondered if it could do better justice to her voice than his recollection, than a pensive.

It isn’t until after his step into the library and moved to a spot where she is visible that Tom is able to notice the things that unsettle him.

Like the way she’s kneeling at the foot of his chair. A false approximation of a Valentines gift from years ago. She’s facing the window with her head bowed and it’s just  _ wrong _ . Years ago his Hermione had held her head up with playful indignity, the Hermione before him didn’t, the Hermione before him looked defeated. 

Tom stood for a moment waiting to hear what the borgart would say. He could think of a few that hurt him enough just to imagine, he’d likely be unable to do the wand work necessary if he were to hear her voice speak them into reality. 

_ You killed me. _

_ I never loved you. _

_ You could have saved me if you had just tried. _

She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t look at him as he crosses in front of her to sit in his chair. 

Hermione has a book in her lap, the title of which is largely obscured by her hand placement the only part of it that is discernible is on it’s spine  _ Arithmancy. _

_ It hasn’t started taunting me yet  _ Tom starts to think of an alternative to the sight in front of him  _ perhaps I’ve gone mad. Yes Riddle, that would be the simplest explanation for seeing your dead wife in the library. _

When Tom sits down Hermione opens the book, then clears her throat and begins to read.

Tom isn’t comprehending the words Hermione is speaking, he isn’t sure what the topic of the book is he may have heard the name Wenlock used repeatedly. He doesn't care what the cruel conjuration of his psyche has drawn up to say. Tom is simply indulging in hearing his wife’s voice again.  _ What harm could come in letting this madness carry on a little while longer. _

She had not looked up at him once. She had not made any noticeable movement besides turn the pages. Her back still in it’s rigid position that is was when he walked in.

“Shall I continue onto the next chapter or do you wish to retire for the evening,” Tom starts to formulate a reply before he’s fully comprehended all the information that Hermione had relayed to him, before she had even finished her statement, “my lord?” 

It wasn’t visible on her face or her body language nor audible in the manner in which her question was asked. Hermione had asked the question in the same calm and level tone with which she had read with. Hermione had held herself in the same poised and differential manner she had held herself in for the entire duration of their stilled dance. 

When Tom had finally finished process the scene that had unravel before him he was able to realize that the Hermione before him was not an apparition of his madness, that she was most definitively a bogart. Because this Hermione managed to pack so much into two words. Because Tom is not a complete fool. Because the last thing Tom ever wanted was for Hermione to be afraid.

Tom had wanted to however briefly indulge himself over to the isane speck of happiness that appeared before him. But now every overlook detail and glossed over sign was evident. The only thing in Tom’s head that is coming to him with any sense of clarity is that the Hermione before him is afraid and he is the sole culprit and the atlas of the blame. 

Tom conjures memories of his Hermione lounging in her chair on lazy Sunday afternoons, blind to the world around her, completely and utterly enthralled with whatever tome had caught her fancy. He watches as the borgart in front of him pulls back ever so slightly as he raises his wand in her direction.

“Riddikulus.”


	2. A Nightmare Both Waking and Ever Present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So Um.. Hermione's pov from the library.

_He had stopped at the end of chapter thirteen, he’ll start at the beginning of chapter fourteen. He had stopped at the end of chapter thirteen, he’ll start at the beginning of chapter fourteen._

The book hadn’t been on the side table when Hermione entered the library. Hermione knows he hadn’t finished the book. Hermione knows he doesn’t start new books in the middle of reading another. 

_This is a test._

He hadn’t tested her in weeks. 

_He’s never done this test before._

Hermione doesn’t know what the right answer is. He had moved the cushion. There is a chair, next to his, made of the same dark wood that the shelves in the library are constructed out of. His is emerald the other scarlet. 

_He had stopped at the end of chapter thirteen, he’ll start at the beginning of chapter fourteen._

Hermione has a thought that doesn’t quit setal in her stomach. _Maybe he’s having company over. Maybe he meant for her to retire early._ Hermione knows he prefers to host night guests in the parlor or study, not the library, never the library. 

_This is a test._ _He had stopped at the end of chapter thirteen, he’ll start at the beginning of chapter fourteen._

Hermione deciding that if he had to search her out the lesson would be harsher learnt than if she went about the normal evening routine. So she goes in search of the text. The shelves are out of order. Nothing is as it had been previously.

_This is a part of the test._

Eventually, after scouring a good portion of the library, Hermione finds where the Arithmancy section had been relocated to. Hermione was almost draw to letting out a sigh of relief or some other joyful noise. _The book is there._

_This is just another test._

She waits in position by his chair. 

Hermione know she doesn’t have the best mental clock but he’s most definitely taking longer with desert than normal. _It just another test,_ the thought brings a small comfort to her nerves. 

He’s standing in the doorway, for a microsection of eternity and Hermione can’t stop wondering if she’s failed, if all he wants is for her to fail. It has after all been months since she’s failed. But maybe it’s just a test and all he is just ensuring she is still compliant and not in need of further correction.

Evenly he makes his way towards his chair, and the string quartet strikes the first note. Hermione opens to chapter fourteen, and the couples take their bows. He settles into his chair, and the hands barely touch in greeting. She takes a calming breath and clears her throat, and the ballroom erupts in a mess of swirling fabric as the dancers allow themselves to be whisked away by the sounds of strings. Hermione had danced through this minefield many times before, sometimes coming out only slightly more marred at the end of the music than before the dance had sprung.

Hermione is calm, or at least calm enough. She reads in a steady tone about the Arithmantic discoveries of Wenlock. She keeps the breaths she takes after periods light and the pauses after commas short. Hermione is calm. 

Hermione pushes aside the tension emulating from him lester she falter. _Breaths light, pauses short, tone steady,_ she knows she has faltered she can feel it, _he hates being interrupted,_ but she carries on with the allusion of hope that maybe he might be forgiving if she just continues on and does as he requires. Hermione is calm. 

The sun is setting the sky turning orange. He came in later than usual and Hermione has to stop herself from pausing in the middle of a paragraph once she starts to squint her eyes. She tries to make the calculation of when should be a good time to ask for a light. Chapter fifteen is quickly approaching she ask when she gets there. 

_Breaths light, pauses short, tone steady,_

By the end of chapter fourteen the sky was a pale midnight blue. It the light from the window barely there enough for Hermione to finish chapter fourteen. So she asked.

“Shall I continue onto the next chapter or do you wish to retire for the evening My Lord?” and maybe there was a pause that might have made it seem like she had forgotten just who she was addressing. Nevertheless Hermione failed to completely mask her response to seeing his wand pointed towards her person. 

“Riddikulus.” 

She did however manage not to let confusion contort her face at his chosen spell to chastise her with. However much the spell did tingle on its way threw her body, warming it in a not purely unpleasant manner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading. If you enjoyed please kudos and comment. My writing tumblr is micheltonwritestomione I scream about things on petralynnluna. Have a lovely day.


	3. Memory Shaped Murmurations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What harm could come from a little indulgence

Now Tom completely understands the depths of the madness that has currently invaded every perception of his senses. Hermione remained kneeling on the floor, having only moved ever so slightly in anticipation for the casting of his charm, her head still down cast. _It’s not a bogart,_ Tom thought, deciding to embrace the twisted apparition stemming from the depths of insanity lingering in his mind. 

A thought came unbidden into the foreground of Tom’s conscience,  _ it’s been so long since I’ve heard her sing. _

Tom wonders if the thing, whatever the cause of its presence, would be able to sing.  _ Surely not,  _ he has forgotten exactly how she sounded, there are so many things about her he did not etch into his memory. There are facts that he can still recall about Hermione’s singing. How it used to light up every corner and crevice , casting away the shadows when she sang. Tom knows that, knows that her voice used to make him feel warm. He regretted not immediately bottling the fresh memories for a pensive every time she sang for him. 

Tom doesn’t know how to respond to her question.  _ Hermione _ had asked him a question and he had flung a spell at her and she had not responded to his action. She looked patient, devoid of expectation or urgency, it marred the face she shared with  _ his  _ Hermione. There was something else, something intertwined with her patience and that was the corrupting culprit upon her visage - trepidation - contoured with her fanatic patience was fear. 

“I think it might be for the best if we both retire for the night.” Tom watched to see her reaction, to view her process the information and formulate a response, hoping to see a burst of elevation spread across her face. He was not given the relief of seeing such a sight take hold. Instead, she stilled, her face a mask of constructed indifferent and performative blankness.

“Do you wish for me to join you?” Hermione’s voice yields Tom no deeper understanding of her meaning. No knowledge of what ,if anything, is being offered. To how far exactly his madness will stretch in the accommodation of his folly. 

Tom wonders if she might perchance be a physical manifestation. He wonders if he could hold her and not let go until he has fully regained his senses. But he doesn’t want to hold this husk, this shell filled with fear and compliance, this false flawed approximation of the woman who was the axis on which his world rotated on.

Tom wants to hold  _ his  _ wife again. 

That is an impossibility because she’s  _ dead _ , but she’s also right there. In their library, where she had just read aloud from a book and her voice was  _ real _ . Tom is once again overwhelmed with the desire to let his madness play out, to savor it without contemplation. 

“Please do.” He requests, his decision slipping from his mouth. After all what harm could come to pass from allowing himself such a minor indulgence. 

He kept looking over his shoulder, making sure she was actually following him, her footsteps so light they are nearly inaudible.

When they reached his room he becomes temporarily enchanted in the familiarity of the experience he has been through so many times. Mindlessly summoning his quidditch jersey and handing it to her.

“I’m going to wash up and join you in bed okay Dove?”

When he emerges she’s still there, having not disappeared into nothing the moment he turned his back. Her clothes are folded on top of the trunk at the foot of their bed. 

She looks so real. Her hair a halo around her face and she appears to have a hint of a smile and for a moment she reminds him of his Hermione and he forgets. As he gets into bed she poses a question “ what would you like me to do now My Lord?” And the facade he let himself get lost in comes crashing down. 

“Please, just come to bed.” It comes out of his mouth like a plea because that is what it is, a plea.

As she does she makes no move to burrow under the covers as he has. She lies on top of the sheets. 

“Under the covers please” 

Tom is able to hold her in his arms again, and she feels so real and so present and so right and so comforting.

“Will you sing for me?” He hadn’t meant to ask, not really, the request had spilled out of his brain through his mouth and into the world. The Oneiroi claiming him quick as Hermes, sleep clouding all rational sense of logic that might have had him wait till he could appreciate it fully. 

“What would you like for me to sing?”

“Whatever you’d like” 

And her voice is just as he had imagined in his memory. And he holds her closer, knowing that when he wakes in the morning she will be gone, disappeared from his mind after a full night’s rest refreshes him, bringing him back from this insanity. But for this moment she is back in his arms and it feels right to allow himself to fall asleep to this, the most lovely sounds of madness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading. If you enjoyed please kudos and comment. My writing tumblr is micheltonwritestomione I scream about things on petralynnluna. Have a lovely day.
> 
> Special thanks to Kyoki777 who beta'd this chapter for me.


	4. Midnight Errors in Rhapsody

“I think it might be best if we both retire for the evening.” He said expectantly, 

Hermione isn’t comprehending what is happening. The scene before her making no sense, so she stayed there waiting for the other shoe to drop (to borrow a muggle phrase). Waiting for the cruciatus to befall her (to borrow from the truth). But he didn’t look infuriated, maybe he isn’t, maybe he’s just waiting. 

_He’s just waiting._

“Do you wish for me to join you.” It’s a dance and she’s willing to let him lead, at least there is a sense of familiarity in this act of combat. 

“Please do.”

Familiarity in these acts of battle, she knows what is happening. The change in location acting both as a convenience for him and an extended punishment for her, she’ll crawl away he’ll fall asleep quickly. This is a dance she’s heard before, done before. She’ll likely do it again. 

There are many things Hermione knows due to their change in location, things she knows will not occur. For one she won’t have to listen to herself scream, he likes serenity before he slumbers. She won’t be getting any new wounds either, he likes to keep her blood away from his linens. 

She knows how to keep him on this course of action, make no noise. Let him marinate his plans lest he find reason to halt and revise them. So she follows steps behind, demure. The hallways provide familiarity without comfort, there is no comfort here. 

That familiarity crumbles when the strangest most foreign sentiment hits her ears.

“I’m going to wash up and join you in bed okay Dove?”

She might have made a noise in the affirmative, she might have been too shocked to respond. 

In her hands is a soft thing. It’s only after she hears the water starts to flow that she starts to examine it. It’s slytherin green with his last name eblazend in silver lettering, it reminds her of quidditch. _He never played quidditch._

He doesn’t have to speak it into words it’s still an order. Very obviously an order that she follows, folding her clothes into a neat pile to be placed on the trunk at the foot of the bed. It is not obvious or to Hermione in any form discernable what he’s going to do when he gets done in the bathroom.

She isn’t sure when the dance became a test. She isn’t sure if the test has even ended. In this moment she isn’t sure of anything.

He stares at her once he’s out of the bathroom, wearing an expression she’s never seen before, and that would be enough to have her cower if he didn’t immediately get into his bed. Hermione isn’t sure what’s going on, what she is supposed to do, how he is going to react to anything she does.

So she does something foolish, something uncalled for, but something bound to make him act _normal_ , “What would you like me to do now My Lord?” 

But even that act of insolence isn’t met with swift retribution. “Please just come to bed.”

So she goes to lie on top of the sheets to await whatever storm he’s been brewing because something has to have been brewing. “Under the covers please.”

When she does as commanded he wraps around her like a python, something making it difficult to breathe. “Will you sing for me?”

_FUCK_

Hermione hasn’t sung in years. He’s never asked her to. 

_You knew this was a test. So how the fuck are you going to get yourself out of this one._

“What would you like for me to sing?”

“Whatever you’d like” 

So she goes back to what her mother used to sing when she was sick. What she used to sing to herself to fall asleep during the before. And eventually his grip loosens to where she can breathe. 

_What the fuck is going to happen when he wakes up and sees me here._ So she makes to leave, to flee, to go back to the shambles of safety she has constructed for herself. 

She does it slowly as not to rouse him. But his grip tightens. So she waits.

And waits

And waits until he starts to turn over on his side. 

But her movement starts the cycle over again. 

So she waits. 

And waits.

And starts to rehearse how she plans to grovel. 

And waits.

But sleep claims her.

Till she is woken by the sound of shouting. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that was enjoyed.
> 
> I yell about my WIP on tumblr at micheltonwritestomione
> 
> I yell about how I just started university tumblr at petralynnluna
> 
> Please Kudos and comment.
> 
> If you didn't catch Sweet Recollections of a Time Long Since Past that's a bit of a prequal I wrote for this fic


	5. Awakening into the Fray

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter Malfoy stage right. 
> 
> Or Tom finally comes to realize what is right in front of him 
> 
> some swearing may occur

Tom having woken from the most peaceful sleep he had experienced in a good long while. Only to be woken by the shouting of his dearest friend. Abraxas deciding to floo straight into his bedroom.

“What the fuck Riddle‽”

“Abraxas calm down, you are being quite loud.” 

“I don’t care if I wake up some polyjuiced whore! You know I did this out of respect to her, and you do this.” Abraxas betrayal is as evident as his anger. “She’s dead Tom, you know this I know this, if you want to see her go to your graveyard.” 

“You can see her?” Tom’s bewilderment at the situation while clear makes no sense to Abraxas. 

“Of course I can bloody see her she’s right fucking there. What do you mean I can see her?” 

Tom scrambles out of bed and it’s Hermione, she’d still there, and she’s stiff as a log. But gains a grasp on his composure with ease and quickness. 

“Abraxas we will take this to my study.” 

He acquessed to Tom with obvious displacement.

“So are you going to tell me what the fuck is going on now or did we just come in here for the whore to make a quick get away.”

“I didn’t think she was real Brax. I thought I was going crazy. I don’t know who that woman is or where she came from. I don’t know what’s going on.” Tom pleas.

“Well fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got a new fae au out
> 
> micheltonwritestomione my writing tumblr get updates on my process and insight into some of my favorite fic writers in this fandom
> 
> petralynnluna my personal tumblr a dumpsite of all things me sometimes I post mood boards or pictures from the aquarium 
> 
> as always kudos and comments remind this exists


	6. Flawed Be the Observer Who Wanders Without Stopping To Ask For Stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione listens to a person she could have swore was killed

She knows she shouldn’t have stayed there, as such there is an unending undercurrent of tension flowing threw her. She knows the fact that he wrapped around her like a devil's snare will not justify her continued presence in his bed. Will not justify her not doing what she is supposed to do.

She knows she shouldn’t have fallen asleep here. His actions the night before are not an indication that he will grant her continued respite. She should have stayed awake, his grip would have eventually gone slack and she could have escaped back to her place. 

She knows that staying in the bed stiff as a board won’t do anything to assuage his anger when he rises. He doesn’t grant her mercey, no leniency for acting with enough fear. Eventually, her torment will no longer amuse him and then she will be discarded and forgotten.

Unless he has been lobotomized into being a new person. Which is an unlikely thought related to what is likely happening now. He is giving her a sense of comfort, something she hasn’t had since Hogwarts, and he will take it away with grand ceremony and taunt her for ever believing it could be as it was. 

He likely has gotten bored, soon she’ll be away from this, the hell he has made for her.

She sees the fire flare and the blond hair and shuts her eyes, like she did as a child when she was reading books under the covers with a flashlight. Malfoy starts screaming and feels him wake up, she feels him scramble away from her repulsed.

She hasn’t seen Malfoy in years, somewhere along the line she had marked him as one of the many people she had watched die. Apparently he just hadn’t been around in a while. Well Malfoy has been around, something is causing Malfoy to believe he can spit fire at him. She hasn’t seen anyone but him since this eternity began and however long its been going on for.

They leave and she can’t hear them converse in the hallway. 

Malfoy had been displeased to see her. That much was obvious from the creative and insane insults he flung at her.

The entire conversation that had taken place between them had made no type of sense. 

So she got up and made her way out of the room. She was behind, and would not have time to bathe, maybe if she was lucky he’d lose track of what crucios were meant for which offence.

She enters the kitchen and hears an inhuman scream. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who knows maybe part seven will be here very soon
> 
> tumblrs
> 
> micheltonwritestomione lets you know when i have a new fae au in the works
> 
> petralynnluna lets you know about my sensory processing issues and how much sensory overload is the worst

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading. If you enjoyed please kudos and comment. My writing tumblr is micheltonwritestomione I scream about things on petralynnluna. Have a lovely day.


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